


stray shot

by flashflights



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trans Keith (Voltron), Twitter Sheith Week 2016, i actually kind of hate this one it didn't go where i wanted at all sorry :T
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 14:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7848250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashflights/pseuds/flashflights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Keith is injured trying to protect Shiro from a Galra ambush, Shiro does what he can to convince him that he's worth protecting too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stray shot

**Author's Note:**

> For the Day 2 prompts "Injury" and "Body Worship" of Twitter Sheith Week 2016. Not actually NSFW, obviously, but I wanted to work in some of the NSFW prompt anyway bc I thought they went together pretty well?? But then I got too emo to actually follow through with the body worship part, so, uh, sorry. Maybe I'll suck it up and write a sequel at some point when I'm feeling less bad about things. 
> 
> ...so this got a lot more blatantly Trans!Keith than I usually do, also. I guess with the prompts involved, that was pretty much inevitable.

They’re surrounded. Breathing hard, Keith thinks that even the air tastes hostile. His lungs ache, and every breath he draws feels like sandpaper over his dry throat. A shock of dark hair falls into his face, heavy with sweat that drips into his eyes and all the way down, over his lips, stinging slightly. He’s lost track of how long they’ve been fighting, or how long it’s been since his hands started to shake, but he doesn’t let up, or even slow down. Despite his weariness, if he’s faltering, he’s the only one who can tell. He leaps back, just barely dodging a blast from a Galra soldier’s gun: his reflexes are definitely starting to slow down. He’s just not sure how much longer he can hold out. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees Shiro about thirty feet away, disarming one of his Galra attackers and sending the other flying backwards, crashing to the ground with a telltale cracking sound; he doesn’t get back up.

The air inside Keith’s helmet is hot and claustrophobic, and every muscle in his body is screaming, but he can’t let himself give in to his discomfort. The Galra numbers are dwindling, if slowly, and Shiro still needs him. They aren’t going to give up on each other, so Keith isn’t going to give up on himself. He parries another attack as it clips past his head ( _Too close,_ he thinks, _way too close. You can’t let yourself get sloppy like this.),_ and dispatches his attacker a few moments later. Not seeing any others headed his direction, he doesn’t waste time to watch his last opponent fall. He’s far too eager to get back to Shiro and get the hell out of here, back to the castle.

When Keith turns to look for him again, he sees Shiro facing him, a breathless smile on his face. Keith’s relief is too short-lived to return it: there’s no way he can see the massive Galra coming up behind him. Brushing aside his fatigue, Keith feels his body respond a moment before his mind does, springing into action, throwing himself between them. The Galra fires, missing Keith so narrowly that he feels the heat of the blast singe past his side. He’s playing it close, but what really matters is that it doesn’t manage to get close to its intended target, Shiro, at all. Keith brings up his shield arm a moment later, blocking a second blast, then moves it aside as he slides his sword in from underneath its edge, thrusting the blade so far into the Galra’s chest he has to push against his body with one of his boots to dislodge it. The corpse falls, gold eyes still wide with an expression Keith can’t quite place, to the ground. Keith’s thoughts are triumphant, and entirely lacking in charity for the dead soldier. Sooner or later, Zarkon and his goons are going to learn that the paladins of Voltron are a force to be reckoned with. Until then, he’s happy to let their corpses pile up. There just isn’t room in his heart for sympathy of any kind for those who use their power to abuse others.

“Thanks,” Shiro says. He’s panting, broad chest heaving, the magenta glow of his Galra arm finally beginning to fade as he realises they’re finally alone. As strong a weapon as it is, Keith knows Shiro hates fighting with it, hates having it at all. Keith knows the feeling of being at odds with your own body, albeit in a very different way, so to a certain extent he understands, and does what he can to help Shiro come to terms with it. In a strange way, he muses, watching the light around it slowly vanish, it’s actually kind of beautiful. Terrifying, and more than a little bit messed up, but beautiful nonetheless. Which is a pretty solid summary of just about everything in their lives since they’d become paladins, really.

Keith finally allows himself a smile. “Any time,” he says. “Not that I’m encouraging you to make needing me saving your life a habit,” he adds. His side is aching slightly still from where that last blast had almost hit him. _Definitely too close_. He puts a hand on his waist, but he doesn’t feel much of anything. It stings, and his hand feels damp, but all that was already true: he’s sweating pretty much everywhere.

Shiro laughs, coughing a little as he does, still winded from the attack. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he replies. “Though it might be a little too late for that particular warning, come to think of it. What’s the score up to now?” he asks. “Six-seven?”

“We are not keeping score of how many times we’ve saved each other’s lives,” Keith deadpans. “But if we were,” he adds, grinning slightly, “it would actually be six-eight.”

“My hero,” Shiro retorts sardonically, straightening up. He looks like he’s about to say something else when his face falls suddenly. “Keith,” he says, his tone suddenly sober with concern, “we need to get you back to the castle. Now.”

Keith follows his gaze with confusion to where it comes to rest, about halfway down Keith’s torso. He realises with gathering clarity that the damp warmth spreading over his side isn’t sweat - it’s blood. With all the other strain he’d been under from the rest of the fight, he hadn’t really paused to take note of the distinct, throbbing pain emanating from where that last Galra shot had clipped past him, evidently closer than he’d thought it had. His vision had already been swimming slightly from over-exertion, so if that was worse from blood loss, he hadn’t noticed it either. Besides, he never had been very good at keeping track of his own physical well-being.

“I’ll be fine,” he insists, keeping his hand pressed to the wound so neither of them can see just how big it might be. “We were about to head back anyway, right? So let’s just head back. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Shiro is adamant. “Keith, move your hand,” he says, adding after a moment, his tone slightly gentler, “please.”

Keith hates when he gets like this. He’s never dealt well with authority figures, and most of the time Shiro doesn’t act like one so it’s fine. He doesn’t mind it when they’re all fighting together either - when they’re a part of Voltron, Shiro is his leader, and Keith falls in line like he’s never had a report card marked ‘trouble with authority’ or ‘doesn’t play well with others’ in his life. It’s only when they’re alone that it bothers him, especially because he only does it when he seems to think Keith is incapable of taking care of himself. Even when he might have a point, Keith resents that. He’s come to feel comfortable enough with Shiro that he’s okay relying on him, and vice versa, but he still doesn’t like being made to feel _dependent._

“Keith,” Shiro repeats, “ _please._ Just let me see it. _”_

Reluctantly, Keith removes his hand from the wound. For a moment, he wonders how exactly he could have missed having a fist-sized mark burned through his armour and into his skin. _Adrenaline really is one hell of a drug_. “Oh,” he says, blinking down at his blood-stained hand, suddenly aware of just how dizzy he is, and then he blacks out.

 

\---

 

Keith drifts in and out of consciousness. He’s vaguely aware of being carried, by Shiro, back to the castle, just as he is of concerned voices raising up around him once they get there. The pain fluctuates: sometimes, he barely feels it, overwhelmed with an almost comfortable, warm numbness. Other times, it’s so intense he feels like screaming, shooting fire up and down his body, making him sick to his stomach. The few times he comes to enough to open his eyes, his vision is still blurred, but each time, he sees Shiro there with him, and he knows he’s going to be alright. Shiro is, after all, and that’s all that matters. He just wishes he didn’t have to make him worry so much. Keith is distantly aware of Allura and Coran instructing Shiro to help position him in one of the castles healing pods, and of Shiro telling him he’ll be there when he wakes up, and then everything goes deafeningly, mercifully quiet.

What feels like moments later, but what he knows was likely several hours, maybe even days, Keith wakes up. He knows what to expect from having seen some of the others stumble out of stasis, and does his best to stay upright, but he doesn’t have to: Shiro is right there, just like he’d promised, waiting to help him stay on his feet. If he had a little more energy, he might have objected to Shiro’s over-attentiveness, but as it is, his legs and his head both feel like jello, and he’s grateful, both for the assistance, and to not be alone.

When Keith turns to look at him, Shiro is gazing at him so intently that it makes him feel dizzy all over again, and he quickly looks away, fixing his eyes on the floor to watch his steps. After a few, he makes a polite but firm attempt to push Shiro away, so he can walk on his own, and also possibly so he can figure out how to breathe again. Shiro seems reluctant and apprehensive, but he lets go, and Keith promptly takes three steps, stumbles, and nearly falls flat before Shiro catches him again. He stifles a soft, low chuckle, and Keith glares at him half-heartedly. All things considered, he’s glad Shiro appears to be the only one in the room with him.

A few more steps later, it occurs to him that he isn’t sure where Shiro is taking him. “Um,” he says, “where exactly are we going?”

“I was thinking you could probably use to lay down, after that,” Shiro tells him. “The pods are great for patching you up, but nothing beats an actual bed.” Keith blinks, head still hazy from the sleep chamber. “I’m taking you to your room, Keith. So you can take a nap.”

“Oh.” He flushes slightly. _Obviously. Why else?_ “Thanks,” he adds, after a moment. He can’t wait until his head is back together properly again. “Did you…” he hesitates, struggling to parse what he wants to say. “Did you really wait the whole time I was in there?” he asks.

Shiro tilts his head slightly, like a confused puppy. Like he’s surprised Keith would even ask. “I said I’d be there when you woke up, didn’t I?”

Keith shrugs, or, he does the best approximation of a shrug he can manage while Shiro is half holding him up still. “I don’t know,” he admits. “You didn’t have to, though.”

“Yes,” Shiro insists, “I did. It was my fault you got hurt, and I made a promise. I’ll always be there,” he adds. Keith is glad to have an excuse to stare at the floor. His cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

When they finally get to Keith’s room, he’s utterly embarrassed to realise that he needs help getting into bed, and worse, that Shiro isn’t about to let him just lay down as is. His paladin’s armour seems to have regenerated along with his body in the pod, which is odd if not entirely surprising, but the same can’t be said for his binder underneath it, which Shiro is adamant on him taking off before he lays down anyway. He’s the only one of all the castle’s residents who knows about it, and he understands why Keith wears it more than he should - while fighting and training, for hours more than he ought to on long missions, and the like - and he doesn’t push it, but he refuses to budge when it comes to sleep. Keith shudders to remember the look on his face the day Shiro had found out that Keith had been sleeping in his binder too most nights.

“Fine,” he snaps, “just, I don’t know, turn around while I get changed. Go stand in the bathroom or something. I don’t need your help with everything, okay?”

Shiro looks apologetic. “Right,” he says. “I know you can take care of yourself, Keith. I just want to be sure you know you don’t _have_ to,” he adds, and Keith has to look away from him again. He feels bad for lashing out, even as minutely as he had. Shiro knows he hates being coddled, and Keith knows Shiro doesn’t act out of pity. Sometimes old habits just die hard.

 

\---

 

“You can come back in now.” Keith is sitting on the edge of his bed, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He doesn’t wear pyjamas, preferring to sleep in just normal shirts and boxers; he even tends to keep on his gloves and socks, not liking the way his hands and feet feel without them on. He’s so used to the pressure of his gloves especially that he isn’t sure he could get to sleep without them anymore at all. Lance teased him about it once, but he’d stopped once Shiro had told him to knock it off. Normally, Keith would’ve preferred to tell Lance off himself, but Lance actually listened to and respected Shiro, so he’d let it go so he could just wear his damn gloves in peace. So what if it was weird; he liked the way they felt. It was comforting. Screw Lance if he wanted to make fun of him for that - Keith had caught him literally crying because he missed _ice cream_ once.

He wonders if Shiro knows exactly how big a deal it is that he’s asking him to come back in at all. Something about the cautious, gentle way that he looks at him when he does come back into the room tells Keith that maybe he does get it, at least a little. He tugs at his shirt, pulling it down, slouching a little, trying to mask his figure. Not that Shiro hasn’t seen him with his binder off before, because he has, it’s just that Keith is pretty sure he’ll just never be fully comfortable with _anyone_ seeing him like this. He’s not even comfortable seeing _himself._

“You look fine,” Shiro tells him, as if reading his mind, or more likely, reading the discomfort that’s written all over his face and body. It’s not quite what Keith wants to hear, but it’s nice enough anyway. “I mean, you look terrible,” he admits, smiling, and Keith can’t help but smile a little too. It’s just contagious like that. “You definitely look like you should absolutely lay down and take that nap we discussed earlier. Maybe even two naps for good measure. But other than that, I mean it.”

“I know,” Keith says, which is to say, he knows he looks terrible, and he knows that Shiro thinks that he looks fine anyway, and that that’s almost enough to make him feel like he might be. “You can sit down, you know,” he adds after a minute, and Shiro does, crossing the room to join Keith on his bed. He feels the mattress sink softly under the added weight, and that’s comforting too.

“I can stay, if you want me to,” Shiro says, which Keith already knows. The only times he leaves is if Keith asks him to, which he rarely does. Neither of them sleep well alone.

They sit in a companionable silence for a few minutes. Slowly, Keith lets himself lean into Shiro, closing the distance between them, his cheek pressed up against Shiro’s shoulder. It isn’t until he lets his eyes drift closed that he realises how tired he actually still is. Shiro must be watching him or something, because he asks if he’s ready to lay down scarcely a moment later. “I guess,” Keith replies, words cut short by a traitorous yawn.

Shiro stands up for a minute, letting Keith readjust himself. Of course, by now he knows that Keith hates being blocked in, so he climbs in first, taking the side of the bed that’s up against the wall, so Keith doesn’t feel trapped. Keith moves to climb in after him and winces, caught off guard by a sudden spasm of pain from his side. His hands move to where the wound had been on autopilot, and Shiro sits up, looking concerned, just as quickly.

“I guess weird alien magic only does so much,” Keith grimaces. The pain is subsiding again, but it’s jarring, and frustrating. He had liked the idea of being done with this - he’s still more than a little embarrassed that he’d let himself get hit at all, and he hates making Shiro worry. “Stop looking at me like that,” he says, “it’s fine. You can lay down,” he adds, and Shiro does.

Keith pulls up the edge of his shirt slightly, curious. He’d seen the scar while he was changing, obviously, but it’s taken on a new light now. He wonders just how much is healed, and what his body still has left to mend on its own. Or maybe it’s just some kind of phantom pain - like the human body just isn’t able to comprehend something like the healing pods entirely, and it’s going to keep hurting for no actual reason until it accepts that the injury is really gone. He catches Shiro looking, and tugs his shirt back down abruptly. He crawls into bed a moment later with his back to him, not meeting his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says a little while later, out of the silence.

Keith opens his eyes again, staring at the wall opposite his bed. He fixes his eyes on where his boots are sitting, and tries not to think about how close they are. Shiro has his arm wrapped around him, and when he speaks, Keith can feel the warmth of his breath on the back of his neck. He wonders if he’ll ever really get used to it. “Don’t apologise,” he replies flatly. “You aren’t the one who let himself get shot.”

“I would have been if you hadn’t been there.”

Keith doesn’t want to dwell on that thought. “Well I was there, wasn’t I? I did what I had to do,” he says. “I just did a sloppy job of it. I won’t mess up like that again. If anyone should be apologising, it’s me, not you.”

Behind him, Shiro shifts his position ever so slightly, drawing him in closer. Keith wonders if he even realises he’s doing it. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Obviously. It’s the truth.”

When Shiro sighs, the feeling of his breath on Keith’s skin sends a shiver all the way down his spine. “You got hurt, because of me, but you’re blaming yourself, even though I’m completely fine? What if I _had_ gotten hurt?”

Keith’s stomach turns. “I won’t let that happen,” he replies flatly.

“What about me, then? Aren’t you mad at me for _letting_ this happen to you?”

“No. It’s my fault I got careless.” He fidgets with the edge of one of his gloves. “Can we drop it? I fucked up, okay? I’m sorry I made you worry. I won’t do it again. Can we just go to sleep now?”

Shiro hesitates, and Keith feels his grip on him shift, and then he’s being rolled over slightly, onto his back so Shiro can see his face. He can tell from the look in Shiro’s eyes that he wishes he hadn’t done it, but knows what it’s like to be overrun by not being able to get through to someone. He’s just not used to Shiro being the one who snaps. “So what if you got careless?” Shiro demands, sitting up. “So did I! I put us both in harm’s way by taking you out scouting before Allura could finish the castle’s perimeter scan in the first place, and again by not watching my own back, let alone yours. If it has to be anyone’s fault, it definitely isn’t yours, so why do you keep beating yourself up about it? When are you going to accept that I worry about you because I _care_ , and that I’m not about to stop?”

Keith blinks up at him, but doesn’t say anything. He isn’t really sure _what_ to say.

“Why is it so hard for you to accept that you deserve to be protected too?” Shiro adds softly after a few more moments of silence. Keith knows he isn’t really looking for answers, but he wants to give him one anyway.

“Because no one ever has,” he says, rolling back onto his side. He just can’t quite handle seeing the softness on Shiro’s face. He already feels about a thousand times more vulnerable than he ever wanted to, or thought he’d be capable of being with anyone. Sometimes, that’s the most incredible thing in the world. And sometimes, it makes him want to take his lion, and fly as far away as it can get him, so he never has to deal with all the things that Shiro makes him feel ever again.

He can feel Shiro hesitate for a moment before he lays back down as well, tentatively wrapping his arm back around Keith, who nods slightly, letting him know it’s okay. Slowly, Keith eases back into Shiro’s embrace. He isn’t flying away anywhere today, anyway. Shiro’s breath is on his skin again, and his chest is rising and falling gently, pressed up against Keith’s back. As they lay there together, Shiro’s hand drifts, Keith isn’t sure how consciously, until it’s resting just above where the scar is still fresh on his waist. He shifts slightly, moving into the touch, letting Shiro’s fingertips graze his skin, and he shivers, and settles into it. He can feel Shiro’s heartbeat echoing through his body, gradually synchronising with his own, the way it always does. It’s the safest feeling he knows.


End file.
